


Dreamwalking

by kathkin



Series: Summerpornathon 2011 [12]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-17 22:56:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin discovers his magic allows himself to step into other people's dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreamwalking

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/)**summerpornathon** 2011 bonus challenge seven: dreams.

Merlin discovered an interesting new magical talent one night. He’d been stricken with a terrible cold, and had gone to bed early dosed up on Gaius’s special cold remedy, and his dreams had been… strange.

He’d dreamed, for example, that he was Gaius in a vegetable garden in a rainstorm trying to pull up a weed that grew longer and longer as he tugged it out of the ground; he’d dreamed that he was Connie from the laundry falling from a great height; and then he’d dreamed that he was Morgana watching Arthur fall from his horse and break his ankle, and then he had woken with a start, panting as if he’d run a great distance, and barely rested at all.

The last dream had come true, of course. It’d taken him a week or so after that to work out what was happening, and a few months to work out how to control it, so he wouldn’t keep stumbling into other people’s dreams by accident.

It was, of course, all sorts of wrong, and intrusive. He was poking into other people’s business on an almost nightly basis, and he should have stopped before he’d even got started, but he didn’t.

Gaius’s dreams were an enigma, rigid and linear and often as intricate as clockwork (not to mention sometimes extremely uncomfortable, there were a few Merlin hadn’t stayed in long). Gwen’s were surprisingly melancholy, he always found himself wanting to hug her the next morning. Morgana’s were a desperate rush of future calamities he stayed clear of, because he really didn’t want to know. Uther’s were an odd mix, more often than not dark and twisted, but then sometimes he would dream of Igraine and Merlin would feel more intrusive than ever but he could never bring himself to stop watching, because it was so strange and fascinating, seeing the king young and happy and carefree.

And Arthur. Arthur dreamed too, Merlin supposed, but he didn’t – he never looked. He had to draw a line somewhere, and he drew the line at Arthur. He could feel Arthur sometimes as he wandered the dreams of the castle, sleeping soundly or sometimes restlessly, but he never looked closer. Arthur’s mind was sacred.

It was inevitable, though. Inevitable, and a total accident – his night had got off to a bad start, a dream of Gaius’s that made him want to wash his brain out, then a falling dream, then a horrible, slavering monster that chased him up and down the corridors of a phantom castle filled with skeletons until he fled into the first dream he came to, not even paying attention to where he was going.

There was a moment of intense disorientation, because the first thing he saw was his own face, staring up at him, a little blurred, and he had just enough time to grasp that someone was dreaming about _him_ before the sensations kicked in, a sudden blaze of arousal. He could feel everything from the rich cloth of the sheets bunched in his hands, the sweat dripping down his spine, the shift and pull of his muscles as he, as he – as he fucked. As he fucked _himself_. It was hot and tight and wet, squeezing just right around him, just _perfect_ , but that was _him_ , that was his own face, twisted with pleasure, his own body – well, no, it wasn’t quite right, not in every detail, but it was enough that he was already deep in a state of panicked confusion and arousal before he – the other Merlin – opened his mouth and said,

“Oh, god – _Arthur_ …”

And then he felt himself groan and speed up, except that wasn’t him, he was the one writhing on the bed with his legs spread, he was – he was _Arthur_. Arthur was dreaming about. About him.

For a split second he wasn’t sure whether or not to bolt back to the safety of his own mind, but then he gave in and let all of Arthur’s pleasure and emotion carry him, lost himself in it, body’s twining together, soft skin and hot breath, and when he came he came _twice_ , once tangled in the worn blankets of his own bed, and once as Arthur, buried deep inside the other Merlin, and it was altogether too much, it was enough to jar him back to wakefulness, a hot sticky mess between his legs.

He lay blinking at the ceiling in disbelief and shame – he didn’t stay for those sorts of dreams, not ever, let alone when it was Arthur, but then again he’d had a starring role in that one anyway, so he’d have been there whether he’d left or not, and, and –

–

The next morning, he stood holding Arthur’s breakfast tray, staring at him numbly. Arthur was sitting in his chair, nonchalant as ever, totally not looking like he’d had a really weird and disturbing dream last night, so maybe he didn’t even remember. Or maybe this was some kind of regular occurrence. Merlin gulped, and said,

“So, um, did you sleep alright, sire?”

“I slept fine, thank you,” said Arthur. “Can I have my breakfast now?”

“No strange dreams?” said Merlin. “Because that’s going around. Strange dreams. It’s like a plague. Only not very deadly. So I’m to check everyone. Their dreams, I mean.”

Arthur frowned. “Gaius told you to ask me about my dreams?”

“Yes?” said Merlin. “Well, no. But yes!” He paused. “So did you?”

“I told you, I slept fine,” Arthur snapped. He stood up and snatched his breakfast tray. “You're a ridiculous excuse for a servant, you know that?” But there was a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and Merlin smiled back.

“Yeah, I know,” he said.

He supposed he just might be able to use this knowledge to his advantage. He’d always known there was a purpose to the whole dream-thing.


End file.
